Song of Redemption (11 page)

Jerusha finally dried her eyes and picked up the lump of dough to resume her work. She had no other choice.

“Oh, Miriam, it’s so good to be home again!” Hephzibah threw her arms around her sister and hugged her warmly. “You’re so grown up, Miriam. Turn around and let me look at you.” Hephzibah’s sister was now taller than she was, and nearly as beautiful with the same thick, curly hair and deep brown eyes. “You’ve become a woman overnight,” Hephzibah said.

“Well, I
am
sixteen now.”

“Come on—let’s go out in the courtyard and sit under the fig tree and talk like we used to do. Remember?”

“It seems like you’ve been gone for ages,” Miriam said as they walked outside, arm in arm. “And now your husband is the king! I still can’t believe it. My own sister is married to the King of Judah! What’s it like?”

Hephzibah sighed contentedly as they sat on the bench beneath the tree. She loved this tiny patch of trees and flowers that brought back so many warm childhood memories. She had said her wedding vows here. But her smile faded as she remembered the first months of her marriage.

“I’ll tell you the truth, Miriam—at first it was very, very lonely being married. I had no friends in the harem except Merab, and I missed all of you so much.”

“What about your husband? I thought being married would make up for leaving your family.”

“Well, at first I never saw him. That was the worst part. He was more interested in the rest of his harem than in me, and I was very miserable. I didn’t know what I’d done to displease him.”

Miriam circled her arm around Hephzibah’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell us you were so unhappy? We had no idea you were lonely.”

“I was too ashamed to come home,” she said, closing her eyes. “I didn’t want Abba to know that I had failed as a wife.”

“And I’ve been envying you for marrying royalty.”

“Well, there wasn’t much to envy at first. But ever since my husband became king, everything has changed. Now we spend every evening together.”

“So tell me your secret! How did you win him away from his concubines? I’ll have a husband of my own someday.”

“I’d like to think it was something I did, but the truth is—I didn’t do anything. King Hezekiah says it’s against Yahweh’s Law for the king to have a lot of wives.”

“What? Against the Law?”

“That’s what he said,” she shrugged. “From now on I’m his only wife. He sent all of his concubines away. And you know what else? He says our son will be the next king.”

“But kings always have huge harems. What about David and Solomon? Their harems are legendary!”

“I know, I know. I don’t understand it. But it sure is wonderful to finally have my husband all to myself.”

Miriam shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. I’ve never heard of that law before.”

“That’s not the only one. King Hezekiah wants me to learn all sorts of rules and rituals, like special baths and offerings and forbidden foods. He talks about Yahweh so much that sometimes I get a little jealous. But he says that if I obey all these laws, Yahweh will bless us with a son—many sons.”

Miriam looked at her in disbelief. “That’s really crazy. I’ve never heard of Yahweh granting sons. Everyone knows you pray to Asherah if you want children.”

“Shh! Please, Miriam! I’m not allowed to even mention the name of another god. King Hezekiah doesn’t believe in any god but Yahweh, and I have to do the same.”

“He’s taking a big chance, then, if he wants to have sons. You’ll be barren if he offends the fertility goddess.”

“Shh—I know, I know.” Hephzibah found it easy to believe in one God when she was with Hezekiah at the palace, but now that she was home, reminded of the old ways, the old loyalties, she felt guilty for heartlessly abandoning Asherah.

“Is it true that the king tore down the big altar of Assur that used to be in the Temple?” Miriam asked. “And that he even destroyed the sacred serpent of Moses?”

“Yes, it’s all true.”

“Well, I know Abba has been very upset about all the changes your husband is making. Every time he comes home from the palace he shouts about the terrible things that are going to happen to our nation because the king has offended all the gods.”

“I know—it scares me, too,” Hephzibah admitted. “But my husband refuses to believe in any god but Yahweh.”

“Do you still believe in them?”

Hephzibah had asked herself the same question many times. She had assured Hezekiah that she would abandon all her other gods, but sometimes she felt a lingering fear for deserting them. What if Yahweh really wasn’t the only god?

“I’ve decided to believe what my husband believes,” she finally said.

“But what about your vow, Hephzibah? You pledged a daughter to Asherah’s service—remember?”

“That was before—I mean, how was I to know my husband would forbid me to worship Asherah?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, maybe once we have a son, King Hezekiah will be a little more open-minded about who I worship. But for now, I just want to please him, Miriam. I’ll do anything he asks.”

“You really love him, don’t you?”

Hephzibah thought of the warmth of Hezekiah’s arms, the passion of his kisses, and all her other concerns vanished. “Yes. More than anything else in the world.”

Miriam sighed. “I hope I can learn to love whoever Papa chooses for me.”

“You will. Just wait and see. Has Papa been making any inquiries for you yet?”

“I don’t think so. He’s waiting to see who’ll be appointed to the important positions in the new court… . Do you know if there are any eligible men on the council?”

Hephzibah reached up to pluck a leaf off the fig tree. “Well, there’s Shebna, the new palace administrator. He isn’t married—but he’s too old for you. There’s a new chief engineer named Eliakim who’s becoming pretty important. He isn’t married, either.”

“Is he handsome?”

“Yes, in a scholarly sort of way—high forehead, dark, rumpled hair and beard, slim build—” “I want a husband as handsome as yours.”

Hephzibah tossed the leaf at Miriam playfully. “That’s impossible. There’s no one in the whole kingdom who’s that handsome.”

“Do you remember when you made me sneak out to try to see what Prince Hezekiah looked like?” Miriam asked.

Hephzibah laughed. “How could I forget? If Abba had found out, he would have stoned both of us!”

“Tell the truth,” Miriam said. “You were afraid the prince would be a fat, ugly toad like his father, weren’t you?”

“Well, can you blame me? But when I saw him that day, he was so tall and handsome, with those dark eyes … I wanted to be his wife more than anything in the world. I was so afraid that King Ahaz would change his mind and I’d never know what it felt like to be held in Hezekiah’s arms.”

“But now you do,” Miriam sighed.

“Yes. The goddess has answered all of my prayers.”

“And is being married to him as wonderful as you dreamed it would be?”

Hephzibah couldn’t help smiling. “Even more wonderful. Someday you’ll find out, little sister. I know that my husband doesn’t love me yet—not as much as I love him. But I’ll make sure that he does someday … no matter what it takes.”

“Even if it means forsaking Asherah and following a bunch of crazy rules and rituals?”

“Yes, whatever it takes. And as soon as I give him an heir, I know he’ll be truly mine—forever.”

9

H
EZEKIAH SLOWLY TRACED HIS
index finger down the yellowed parchment, then paused. “Is this where we stopped yesterday?”

“Yes, that’s the place,” Zechariah said. “We were reading about Moses and the plagues of Egypt.”

Hezekiah smiled at his grandfather. “I remember the first time you told me the Passover story, when I was a child.”

“Yes, you especially liked the plague of frogs, remember?”

“That’s because I could imagine the panic in the harem if the ladies woke up with frogs in their beds.” They both laughed.

Hezekiah had chosen the classroom where he had spent so much time with Shebna to begin his study of the Torah with his grandfather. They worked together every day, with Zechariah explaining God’s laws as Hezekiah copied the scroll in his own hand. The work bonded them even closer together than before.

“I also remember how you begged me to take you to the Passover feast,” Zechariah said, “but of course there was no feast. In fact, there hasn’t been one for a long, long time.”

“Now that the Temple has been purified and the daily sacrifices are being offered again, couldn’t we reinstate the feast days, too?” Hezekiah asked.

“We certainly could. In fact, the Torah says … let’s see … where is it?” Zechariah unrolled the scroll and spent several minutes searching for something. “Here it is! This passage describes the first Passover feast, and it says, ‘This is a day you are to commemorate; for the generations to come you shall celebrate it as a festival to Yahweh.’ ”

Hezekiah stroked his beard. “Then Yahweh commands us to celebrate it?”

“Yes, and I think it would unify our people and strengthen their faith if we reminded them of this monumental landmark in our nation’s history.”

Hezekiah felt a growing excitement. “When is Passover traditionally celebrated?”

“It’s too late. The time has just passed.” Zechariah frowned. “It was supposed to be held on the fourteenth day of this month, but we were still purifying the Temple then.”

“You mean, we’ll have to wait an entire year to celebrate it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Hezekiah’s disappointment felt close to anger. “Celebrating this feast could have accelerated all our reforms, even more than the covenant sacrifice.”

“Yes, I think you’re right. The people are ready for a fresh start. With Passover as a reminder of God’s deliverance, maybe they would have abandoned their idolatry for good.”

Hezekiah rose from his seat and stood in front of the window that looked down on Jerusalem. Sounds from the city drifted up to him—children squealing in play, wagon wheels rumbling over the stone streets, shouted greetings and curses. He wished he could remind all these people what God had done for them in the past. “If only we didn’t have to wait an entire year!”

“Wait a minute,” Zechariah said. “It seems to me I recall …”He picked up the Torah scroll and began searching through it again. “Let me try to find it.”

As Hezekiah watched his grandfather squint at the tiny, handprinted letters, he noticed how tired Zechariah looked. His face was pale with fatigue, and his movements seemed slow and painful. He had worked hard to purify the Temple, then had pitched in to help with the covenant sacrifice. The task of slaughtering more than three thousand animals had tired the younger men—and Zechariah was nearly seventy. But he had never complained, nor had his enthusiasm for Hezekiah’s reforms waned.

“Here it is!” A smile of victory spread across Zechariah’s face. “Here’s the answer! Some of the Israelites missed the first Passover feast because they were ceremonially unclean. They asked Moses what they should do and … Well, here. You read it.” He passed the scroll to Hezekiah, and Hezekiah sat down again to read aloud.

“‘When any of you or your descendants are unclean because of a dead body or are away on a journey, they may still celebrate the Lord’s Passover. They are to celebrate it on the fourteenth day of the second month at twilight.’ ” He looked up. “Do you think this applies to our situation?”

“Yes, I’m certain it does. Like us, these men weren’t consecrated according to the Law at the time of the feast. But Yahweh gave them a second chance during the second month.”

“Then let’s do it! We’ll proclaim the fourteenth day of the second month as the Lord’s Passover this year. Do you think we can make all the necessary preparations by then?”

“With a little hard work, I think we could.”

Hezekiah couldn’t sit. “I’ll send couriers to every town with the announcement. And I’ll notify the northern tribes of Israel, too.”

“Yes! The timing will be perfect! The religious calendar for the northern tribes is one month behind ours. If we celebrate a month later here, it will coincide exactly with Passover in Israel.”

“Then it’s settled.” Hezekiah crossed to the open window again and looked down on the bustling city. “Jerusalem is the place God chose as the center of worship for all His people,” he said. “The local shrines and high places must be abandoned for good. Passover will be the beginning. I’m going to reawaken in my people a knowledge of our history—and of our God.”